“It’s Beck.”
“Did you call before and hang up?”
“Yes. I thought I had the wrong number. Tell your lady I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Give me a minute,” Malcolm said. Beck heard a female voice in the background and what sounded like a door closing.
“It happened again,” Malcolm sighed into the phone. “The fire alarm malfunctioned or something. I don’t know the full details yet.”
“When?” Beck’s pulse raced.
“A little after nine. I tried calling you.”
Beck dropped into the leather chair beside the fireplace and ran his hand roughly over his face. “Which house?”
“The Franklin’s.”
Beck remembered them well. The husband was an investment banker and the wife was a plastic surgeon. They owned an estate in Jamaica Plains. The eight-bedroom house overlooked the Jamaica Pond, a circular pond surrounded by a beautiful path.
Beck was there for the installation of the security system two months ago. He tested the system the day it was installed. A month later another series of testing was completed and the security system was fine. The fire alarm worked.
“There’s nothing left of the house,” Malcolm said.
“Was anyone hurt?” Beck asked and was silently praying that there would be no fatalities. He couldn’t live with that.
“No, they were on vacation. This is not like the others, Beck. We were dealing with breaks-in before. Now this. Whoever is responsible is stepping up the game.”
Beck was thinking the same thing but he refrained from voicing it. This was a personal attack. What if the Franklin’s had been home? Whoever was sabotaging his company wasn’t going to stop until someone got killed.
“There’s speculation it could be faulty wiring as a result of the alarm system,” Malcolm said with hesitation in his voice.
“By whom? That’s not possible.”
“You and I know that, but we’ll have to wait until the investigation is completed. If they’re correct this may lead to charges.”
“If they’re correct? Who are they?”
“The fire marshal’s office.”
This can’t be happening. Beck didn’t realize he was pacing the floor or had gotten up out of the chair until he was in front of the sliding door.
Charges? What would happen to Beck Security Systems? Would he lose everything? He had made it back financially from his divorce and liked where he lived. His company had recovered and—
“I’ve scheduled a meeting with Peta Ann and Mona,” Malcolm said cutting into his thoughts.
Peta Ann was the Director of Communications, and Mona was the company lawyer Beck hired last year.
“Mona feels we should discuss how we’re going to address the fall out from this. Peta Ann is worried about the financial impact. How are we going to get out from under this?”
“I don’t know.” Beck wasn’t thinking about damage control. All he could think of was why? Why was this happening? Who would do this? “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“One more thing, I emailed you a file on Sydney Brooks. That’s her real name by the way. Victoria Kelly is her grandmother’s name.”
Once he ended the call with Malcolm, he reared back and hurled the phone at the stone fireplace. It shattered into little black pieces that littered the bamboo floor. What was he going to do now?
He thought of Marklynn, the only person he believed could help him but may not because she thought he had something to do with Sydney’s disappearance. He needed help. The question on the table now was would she help him?
• • •
Markie laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Day three of Sydney’s disappearance and the responsibility of finding Sydney rested heavily upon her. She turned her head towards the digital clock when it alarmed again for the third time at 9:45.
She would not make it into the office for her meeting with Beck. What had she told Beck 10:00 a.m.? The alarm had gone off two hours ago and she’d hit the snooze button repeatedly trying to buy some more time. Hitting the snooze button was not something she routinely did, but this morning she couldn’t get out of bed.
With two attempts on her life, it was nothing short of a miracle that she had walked away from both incidents without being seriously hurt. This morning she was sore from head to toe. She felt as though someone had used her body as a punching bag.
Last night Beck had said he would talk to her about Sydney and what he knew. Being sore wasn’t going to stop her. Slow her down yes, but certainly not stop her from meeting with Beck.
First, she needed to call Cate to tell her she’d be late. After that was done, she called Nan to let her know she hadn’t found Sydney yet, but she had a lead. Big mistake.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” That’s how Nan answered the phone.
“We don’t know that,” Markie said watching the ceiling fan’s circular motion. Sometime between when she’d gotten home last night and an early morning trip to the bathroom, the air conditioner had stopped working.
“Well, I do.”
“Nan, it’s too—
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Before Nan started up, Markie said, “I have a meeting with someone this morning that may know something about Sydney’s disappearance. Once I know more, I’ll call you.”
“Who?”
Markie pushed herself up in the bed, ignoring the pain shooting through her body and switched the phone to her other ear. She was going to get up then changed her mind wanting to finish the call with her grandmother.
“You don’t know him.”
There was a dead silence on the other end of the line. Markie knew what was coming next and braced herself for it.
“I had a dream last night that you were hurt,” Nan said. “In it I saw a man but I couldn’t see his face. You’re not to fear him. He’ll help you but not in the way you think.”
Childhood memories flooded back, of Nan walking over to the phone and waiting. Then a few moments later it would ring.
Nan would tell the neighbors things. Sometimes it brought her praises like when she’d found Ms. Fisher’s missing six-year old daughter. Or disappointment, when she’d told Mrs. James her missing husband was dead. Mrs. James hadn’t believed her until the body had been found.
Markie didn’t want to believe that Nan had gifts as her grandmother called them. She accepted these gifts as luck. Plain and simple luck.
“Why is your dream relevant and how is this going to help me find Sydney?”
She wasn’t in the mood to hear about Nan’s dreams, the man in it or her premonitions this morning.
“It breaks my heart to see how far the two of you have drifted apart.” Sadness marred her voice.
“That’s Sydney’s doing,” Markie said not liking the path the conversation was heading down. It was the ‘defend Sydney path.’
“Maybe, but you’re sisters. Sydney is not as strong as you. She never recovered from your parent’s death.”
She’d heard that argument more times than she cared for and had always kept quiet. It was one excuse after another with Sydney. She couldn’t go to school because she was sick. Real reason—She hadn’t studied for her chemistry test. When she’d gotten arrested for fraud, it was her boyfriend’s fault. It was always someone else’s fault. This morning she couldn’t hold her tongue. All the years of resentment bubbled to the surface. It was time Sydney grew up and Nan to stop making excuses for her.
“I survived, Nan. When Jared called off our wedding I got through it. I walked away from my job as a cop and I got through that, too.”
“By throwing yourself into your work and shutting people out,” Nan said. “When I die it’ll just be you and Syd left. If we have to carry her until she finds her footing then so be it. She’s your sister.”
Silence.
“Now, about this man…”
Markie didn�
�t want to hear about the mysterious man because she knew it was Beck. The fact that she kept dreaming about him was starting to get on her nerves.
That can be easily explained, she told herself simply. It was because of his connection to Sydney why she kept thinking about him. Nothing else. Once she found Sydney then she would no longer dream about him. He would no longer be a presence in her life.
“I don’t have time to hear about your dream, Nan,” she snapped.
“Why are you angry with me?”
“I’m not. I get uncomfortable when you talk about that hocus pocus stuff.”
“Hocus pocus stuff? I can’t help what I see or feel and will not repress it because it makes people uncomfortable. What about you? Do you think it’s normal to glance at a five-page document and repeat it word for word?”
With the sequence of events that had happened in the last couple of days she could do without Nan’s predictions or being called abnormal. Then she thought, why should she be the only one feeling lousy and carrying the burden.
“Fine. Why don’t you save me the trouble and look into your crystal ball and tell me where to find Sydney?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone and she heard a sniffle. Markie felt like an eel. Nan didn’t deserve that. She was trying to help the only way she knew how. She’d given up her life when her son and daughter-in-law died to raise their children. Not once did she complain.
“I’m sorry, Nan.”
“I know. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait. Why don’t you drop by the office today? You can see that I’m okay and you don’t have to spend the day worrying.”
“I will,” Nan said and Markie could almost hear the smile in her voice.
Placing the phone back on the cradle, she slipped out of bed and headed to the small adjoining bathroom. She turned on the light and wanted to turn it back off. It wasn’t the avocado green walls, sink or tub that had her wanting to run. It was her reflection in the mirror.
Last night her right eye had been slightly swollen, with mild discoloration. This morning the skin around the eye was almost black, the sclera red. No amount of makeup in the world could hide her black eye and she didn’t even want to try.
Instead, she opted for the bag of frozen peas in the freezer and held it against her eye for twenty minutes. Then she showered, dressed, and left for the office.
• • •
Would Marklynn help him?
The question still remained in the forefront of Beck’s mind as he parked at the corner of East Berkeley not far from Washington Street. He grabbed his laptop and made his way to Brooks Investigations.
That question had kept him up after he’d read the information Malcolm had sent on Sydney Brooks. She had a juvenile record that was sealed. She’d also been arrested a couple of times for fraud. In both cases the charges were dropped, resulting in no jail time. He figured Marklynn had something to do with it.
It was clear to Beck that, however Sydney got her hands on the pictures, she wanted money for them. It had to be, with her history. What else could it be? If that were the case, then criminal charges would be laid. Would Marklynn help him knowing that it would land her sister in jail? He didn’t think so.
“Good morning. I’m Dalton Beck. I’ve an appointment with Marklynn Brooks,” Beck said to the woman seated behind a glass wall. The nameplate on the glass said Cate Jackson. She got up and came around the glass partition to greet him as he entered the foyer of the office.
She was a short round woman about fifty-five years old, wearing a white summer sweater and black slacks. Her short fiery red hair didn’t seem to complement her dark skin tone.
“Good morning, Mr. Beck. Ms. Brooks will join you shortly. I’ll show you to the conference room. Did you find the office okay?”
Beck followed her as they made their way up the metal staircase with the glass railing to the second floor. They passed a series of empty offices with glass walls separating each office. Glass walls also lined the hallway. Only frosting along the walls and glass doors provided some privacy.
The woman was looking at him as they approached the conference room and he realized she was waiting for a response from her earlier question.
“I’m familiar with the area,” he said.
The conference room was different from the offices. It was enclosed with real walls and entry was accessed only by a key code pad. There was a sign on the door that said the door must be kept locked at all times. She punched in the code and the door buzzed open.
An oval black lacquer table sat in the centre of the room. Floor to ceiling silver cabinets were mounted on the back wall with a desk between the cabinets. It wasn’t the furnishings they’d spent money on. It was the technology equipment. And there was something, a spy gadget he would guess, displayed on a wall of shelves above the desk.
“I’ll leave you in Jamie’s capable hands,” Cate said when they entered the room. “And yes, he looks like the guy from The A-Team. Our clients get a kick out of it.”
Jamie stood up from the head of the oval table and walked around to greet Beck. He extended his hand to Beck, scowling at Cate’s comment.
“It’s Mr. T. that looks like me. Jamie Wright.”
“Dalton Beck.”
The man was built like a linebacker. He wore a black patch over his left eye and his Mohawk and beard could do with a serious trim. Wearing a black T-shirt that stretched across massive chest, with Brooks Investigations written on the front in white, black pants and black boots, Jamie could pass for a soldier of fortune like the television character B.A. Baracus.
“Have a seat.”
Jamie went back to his seat staring at Beck from the head of the table. There were juices and bottled water with fresh pastries on the table along with a projector. Paper and pens were placed in front of five of the six chairs in the room and Beck wondered about the other two people that would be joining the meeting.
“Markie said you’re going to help us find Sydney.”
Beck took his laptop from the carrying case, placed it on the table, lifted up the screen and turned it on.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be with that, but it appears our problem might be connected somehow.”
“Somehow?” Jamie grunted his eyes hard as steel. “We have pictures that link your company to fraud or theft and that’s just for starters. What would the police think if they received an eight by ten glossy of your company van parked in your client’s driveway moments before they were robbed?”
“That van was stolen. We had—”
“How convenient. I’m sure they would take that into consideration when they throw your butt in jail after what happened to your client’s house in Jamaica Plains last night. Didn’t think we knew about that, did you?”
“I found out about that early this morning and planned to mention it in our meeting.”
Jamie leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck, his eyes still on Beck. He looked as if he’d already made up his mind that he was guilty of something and Beck had to wonder how productive their meeting would be.
“What I can’t figure out is, why? It doesn’t make sense.”
“If I were you, I’d be thinking the same thing. But you’re wrong,” Beck said. He was in defensive mode now and didn’t like it one bit.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I try to kill Marklynn last night and then show up here today?”
“What do you mean try to kill Markie?” Jamie sat up like a cobra about to strike.
“She didn’t tell you?” Beck’s eyes widened in surprised.
“Tell me what?” Jamie placed his palms on the desk and pushed himself up to his full height leaning forward.
“Someone tried to run her over last night,” Beck said, knowing exactly what was on Jamie’s mind. “Before you start swinging,” he held up both hands, “I had nothing to do with it.”
The woman whose very name had changed t
he conversation from unfriendly to hostile walked into the room, sporting a gray power suit. The skirt flirted above her knees. With legs like hers, clad in sheer silk stockings wearing high-heeled black leather pumps, she was definitely a candidate for some type of leg commercial.
Her hand went to her hip to secure the gun into the hip holster as she moved effortlessly towards the front of the room. After the attempt on her life it was a wonder she wasn’t walking around with the gun in her hand.
“Good morning,” Markie said and dropped the file folder on the table. “Sorry I’m late.”
She pushed the wraparound sunglasses from her face to the top of her head and Jamie exploded, “Sweet mother of God!”
Chapter Five
Sydney sat up on the cot when she heard keys jingling on the other side of the door. She scrambled to her feet just as the door opened and a woman, tall, with skin the color of honey strolled in. The black bodysuit she wore looked like it was painted on showing off her well-defined muscles. A body suit in the middle of summer makes perfect sense for a lunatic.
Sydney had named her Blondie. She’d gotten a glimpse of her before she’d passed out earlier. The woman’s left hand was behind her back. In her right hand she had water, a small bottle. Sydney took her eyes off the water when Blondie moved slowly into the room staring at her like an animal stalking its prey.
“Aren’t you a clever girl?” The woman’s eyes fell on the tape Sydney had ripped from her mouth.
Sydney worked at the ropes to free her hands as the woman neared her. She wasn’t going to—
“Sit down.” A taser appeared from behind Blondie’s back. “Do I need to remind you what I’m capable of?” She smiled a cold smile that made Sydney shiver.
Blondie set the bottle of water down on the floor by her feet. She looked down at the water then at Sydney with that cold smile again.
“Thirsty? You can have a mouth full if you tell me what I want to know. Sit down and let’s have a chat. Shall we?”
“What do you want?” Sydney sat down on the cot eyeing the taser gun, not wanting to push her luck with Blondie. Her side was still sore from the introduction and she didn’t want a repeat performance. What she did want was a taste of the water. Her throat was parched. She eyed the water.
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